


The Quality of Mercy

by TSMenninger



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Cardassians, F/M, Maquis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12355125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSMenninger/pseuds/TSMenninger
Summary: Dr. Beverly Crusher finds herself the victim of a hijacking by a starfleet colleague turned Maquis symphathizer. When the runabout is shot down by the Cardassians, Beverly runs afoul of a harsh Cardassian commander, Gul Toril Gudrid, who believes in guilt by association and arrests Beverly.





	The Quality of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written in 2004 and was a non-winning entry in the Star Wars Strange New Worlds contest held by Pocket Books (Simon & Schuster). It was inspired by my love for the character of Beverly Crusher and combined many elements I love about her character (her "frontier" doctor skills--I call this one of my "Dr. Crusher Medicine Woman" tales; her love of the theater as the title is from Portia's speech in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice; and her fierce devotion as a strong woman and mother). I'm posting this tonight in honor of Beverly Crusher's fictional birthday and as a birthday gift to my Twitter friend Viktoria in Germany.

 

           Doctor Beverly Crusher awoke facedown in a musky bed of wet moss, pine needles and twigs.  She couldn’t shake the chill of a rain-soaked medical coat and uniform.  Returning awareness brought nagging questions born of parental empathy.  _What if Wesley was out here instead of Cate MacNeill?  Would I hijack a runabout, violate Cardassian space and risk starting a war to save him?_

          But now wasn’t the time to philosophically grapple with Lieutenant Patrick MacNeill’s actions.  Something clamped down on Beverly’s wrists.  She drew in her extended arms.  Metal shackles glinted in the grayish half-light.

          In less than twenty-four hours, Beverly had become someone’s prisoner again.  That crude realization restored memory.  Dark, rainy hours in the forest had been spent caring for Patrick, juggling medical instruments and a palm beacon.  Legs cramped from kneeling needed stretched.  A crack, like a branch snapping, came from the thicket behind Beverly.  Her combined aim of phaser and beacon was too late.  A stun beam brought blackness before she knew whether her assailant was Cardassian or Maquis.

          Familiar sounds of water rushing over a falls and owlish hooting meant Beverly hadn’t been moved.

          A lean Cardassian towered over Beverly.  “On your knees.”

          Fear seized Beverly.  Why couldn’t she hear Patrick’s ragged breathing?  She tried to get up.  A twig stabbed the unsutured cut in her right palm.  With a cry of pain, Beverly sank back to the ground.

          The Cardassian’s boot nudged Beverly in the ribs.  “Now, Maquis.”

          Beverly made it to her knees.   _My God, he’s twenty, if that_.  She studied the Cardassian’s striking gray eyes.  “I’m not Maquis.”

          “Doc Crusher’s innocent.”  A rasp marred Patrick’s Australian accent.  “You want me, Cardie bastard.”  Half-covered in blankets and hands manacled, he drug himself toward the Cardassian.  “‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’  And Gul Gudrid’s a monster worse than Lady Macbeth.”

          The Cardassian aimed his rifle at Patrick.  “My name is Emric Gudrid.  How do you know my mother?”

          Coughing up blood, Patrick collapsed.

          “Leave him alone!”  Beverly wasn’t surrendering her patient to Cardassian brutality without a fight.  “He needs medical attention.”

          Emric Gudrid faced Beverly.  Darkness clouded his eyes.  “Yesterday, your Maquis friends destroyed our infirmary and murdered our medical personnel.”

          “I’m a doctor.”  Beverly stretched out her hands.  “Please, let me help him.”

          Seemingly telling Beverly she was on her own, the owl screeched and abandoned its perch.  Emric watched it glide into mist-shrouded coniferous trees.

          “Please, Mister whatever-your-rank-is Gudrid, Lieutenant MacNeill had hemothorax--bleeding in his chest cavity.”  Beverly suppressed indignation before she said something regrettable.  “I just need a medkit and tricorder.”

          Emric observed Patrick, coughing and writhing on the ground.  Then, Emric bent down.  Something clicked and he freed Patrick’s hands.

          Emric did the same for Beverly.  “I’ll get your equipment.”  He gestured to the riverbank.  Two phaser rifles and other salvage from the runabout _Colorado_ were heaped near a fallen tree. “Don‘t try anything.”

          Beverly turned Patrick on his back, then elevated his legs on the rock.

          “You should’ve taken that Cardie out.  Got the bloody hell--”  Patrick spit up frothy blood.

          “You need to take it easy.”  Beverly bundled Patrick in the blankets.

          “Doctor,” Emric said.

          Beverly took the medkit and tricorder from Emric.  “Thank you.”

          Emric perched on the fallen tree and kept his rifle trained on Beverly and Patrick.

          A hypospray of pulmozine didn’t help Patrick’s breathing.  Beverly gave him another ten cc dose.

          “Find Cate.”  Patrick pulled his arms out from the blankets.  “My girl will get you off this godforsaken Cardie planet.”

          Beverly smoothed Patrick’s black hair, sticky with blood.  She’d sutured his lacerated scalp and removed shrapnel from his chest.  Blunt force trauma, likely a crash into the _Colorado_ helm console, caused the internal damage she couldn’t repair in this makeshift sickbay.

          “My body’s out of whack, you know it.”  Patrick persisted.

          Inaprovaline--one last effort to stabilize Patrick--failed.  Beverly cursed her med scan.  Nothing to do but comfort the dying.

          “Don’t know if I’ll be waltzing through any Pearly Gates.  But I have an angel of mercy here.”  Patrick managed a smile.  “All I did.  You’re here trying to save me.”

          Whatever Patrick did to get the _Colorado_ shot down while he had Beverly tied up and sedated in the aft cabin was inconsequential.  Beverly ran the hand scanner over him.  “Try not to talk, Patrick.”

          Patrick grabbed Beverly’s arm.  “Right lucky I didn’t have you trussed up as good as I thought.”  He pried the scanner from Beverly’s hand.  “Downright wicked cut there, Doc.”

          On the debris-laden aft cabin floor, Beverly had cut her palm on teapot shards but made it to a medkit.  It took an exoscalpel to slice through her bonds.  She just applied pressure to the wound, then headed to the cockpit to deal with Patrick.

          “Beverly Crusher, with eyes like clear skies over Sydney Harbor,” Patrick said, jarring her back to the present.  “You’d do the role of Portia justice.”  His blue eyes sparkled.  “‘The quality of mercy is never strained.  It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.  It is twice blest; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.’”  Patrick squeezed Beverly’s hand.

          _I don’t feel blessed right now, Patrick._ Beverly nearly pitched her tricorder.  After Patrick loosened his hold, she numbly dug the hand sensor out of a mossy clump.

          A few minutes passed like eternity until Patrick quietly flat lined.

          “Rest in peace, Patrick,” Beverly said softly.

          Emric bent down beside Beverly.  “Was your Lieutenant MacNeill a poet?”

          “An actor.”  Beverly closed Patrick’s eyes.  She draped the blankets over his body.  “Thank you for allowing me to continue his treatment.”

          Emric’s expression softened.  He touched Beverly’s right hand.  “Take care of your injury.”

          Beverly autosutured the cut, then flexed her hand.

          Emric jumped to attention.

          A tall female Cardassian led five soldiers through the foggy riverside path that headed to the clearing where the _Colorado_ crashed.

          Two Cardassians flanked Beverly.

          In serpentine fashion, the female surveyed the area.  Two black braids dangled against her breastplate; a third hung down her back.  She looked at Emric.  “You single-handedly captured our Federation fugitives.”  She booted Patrick’s body.  “Pity, this one might have proved willing to talk before he died.”

          Beverly couldn’t curb her anger.  “As his physician, I doubt he would have survived an interrogation.”

          The female’s piercing pale eyes locked on Beverly.  “I’m Gul Toril Gudrid, commander of the Kolbyr base.”  Her voice spewed venom.  “You’ll speak only when asked.”  She turned to Emric.  “Why isn’t she in restraints?  Your brother would have followed orders as befitting a soldier of Cardassia.”

          “Is that why Varik’s dead, Mother?”  Emric asked bitterly.

          Gul Gudrid slapped Emric loud enough for Beverly to cringe for him.  “Report to Glinn Marek at the Starfleet vessel.  Don’t meander on a nature walk.”

          Emric saluted, took his rifle and marched off.

          Gudrid motioned to Beverly’s guards.

          Repressed aches and pains hit Beverly hard as she was hauled up.

          “Your rank, name, position.”  Gudrid removed Beverly’s combadge. 

          Her will resolute, Beverly answered. “Commander Beverly Crusher, chief medical officer, _U.S.S. Enterprise_.”

          Gudrid pointed to Patrick’s body.  “And this was?”

          “Lieutenant Patrick MacNeill.”

          Gudrid’s cryptic grin revealed alabaster teeth.  “The father of an escaped Maquis prisoner.”

          With brutal efficiency, Gudrid shackled Beverly.  “Explanations must wait, Commander Crusher.  You’ll be taken to a shuttle.”  Gudrid took a charcoal-colored cloth from the guard beside her.  “I have six hours of daylight to track my prisoners.  Thanks to atmospheric disturbances, I must manage without sensors and transporters.” 

          Held tight, Beverly struggled while Gudrid blindfolded her.

          “Have her ready for me,” Gudrid said.

          A Cardassian compelled Beverly forward.  “Move.”

          Stumbling blindly, Beverly resigned herself to imprisonment if it spared the Federation another protracted conflict with Cardassia.  If it saved Wesley, wherever he was with the Traveler, from the horrors of war.

#

          Perspiration saturated the coarse blindfold.  Beverly didn’t know how long she’d been in the overheated room.  She couldn’t work a crick out of her back--not with her hands locked above her head.  A heavy bar, pressed against her upper calves, pinned her to the floor.

          Thoughts of what Gul Madred did to Jean-Luc Picard after his capture on Celtris III last year, of what Patrick feared Cate suffered at Gul Gudrid’s hands, coiled icy tendrils around Beverly’s spine.  Seldonis IV Conventions outlawing torture only applied to prisoners of war.

          _How in the hell do I explain this to Jean-Luc?_

          Yesterday on the aft cabin bunk, Beverly asked herself the same question.  Rope lashed around her ankles also secured her hands behind her back.  “Damn it, Patrick, what about the Mandisa colonists?”

          “The Maquis need the meds more than they do.”  Teacup in hand, Patrick leaned against the bunks.  “My Cate and her mates escaped from a Cardie outpost on Kolbyr.  I’m their best chance to get out alive.”

          “Taking a Federation runabout into Cardassian space is tantamount to suicide.”  Beverly tugged on the ropes.  Nothing gave.

          “Wasted energy, Doc.  That’s good rappelling line.”  He sipped tea.  “You’d sacrifice your life for Wesley.”

          “Wesley hasn’t joined a terrorist group.” 

          “He stayed on Dorvan V.”  Patrick set his cup on the bunk edge.  “That’s home to Cate’s cell leader.”

          Beverly continued the search for slack.

          “Don’t try any heroics.”  Patrick reached up to the upper bunk.  “Sorry to do this again.”  He pressed a hypospray against Beverly’s neck.

          Before the sedative kicked in, Beverly heard Patrick say, “I’ll have Cate off Kolbyr before breakfast.”

          Breakfast.  The aroma of hot coffee and croissants slathered with butter took Beverly’s mind off the numbness coming over her hands and lower legs.

          A door swished open.

          Gul Gudrid said, “What was the nature of your mission?”

          Beverly turned her head toward Gudrid’s voice.  “We were taking medical supplies to a Federation colony on Mandisa.”

          “Mandisa is near the other end of the border.  Your ship was two-point-five kilometers from the last known location of my escaped prisoners.”  Gudrid’s breath was hot against Beverly’s neck.  “Don’t lie, Crusher.”  Cold, scaly fingers gripped the blindfold, then yanked it off.

          Artificial light, combined with purplish haze streaming in a ceiling-to-floor window, stung Beverly’s eyes.  Her best weapon was the truth.  Patrick was beyond the reach of Cardassian hands; Beverly knew nothing to put Cate in further jeopardy.  “Around fourteen-hundred hours yesterday, I was double-checking the supply inventory.  Lieutenant MacNeill came up behind me--sedated me.  When I came to, I was tied up.  MacNeill told me he planned to rescue his daughter Cate from your installation.”

          “Then after being shot down, you freed yourself.”  Gudrid moved beside Beverly.  “And aided a criminal?”

          “Lieutenant MacNeill’s guilt was a matter of Starfleet jurisprudence.”  Beverly adjusted to the light.  The device she was locked to was a half meter from the window.  Outside, sunlight faded on an expansive lake maybe one hundred meters below Gudrid’s room.  Edging thick fir trees, an obelisk-like monument seemed misplaced.  “When I found MacNeill injured, my duty as a physician came first.”

          Gudrid focused on the outside view.  “I’ll know if you told me the truth after our next interview.”

          “Next?  I’m a medical officer.  The last thing I want to do is start a war.”  Beverly grasped for ideas.  “Recently, the Maquis attacked Gul Evek’s ship.”

          “Evek and I are friends.”  Gudrid clasped her hands behind her back.  “Proceed.”

          “The _Enterprise_ helped Evek.”  Beverly bent her fingers, trying to restore feeling.  The rod holding the restraints went up to the ceiling.  “My staff tended his wounded.  If I could contact Captain Picard--”

          Gudrid cut Beverly off.  “Sunset is beautiful on the lake tonight, don’t you think?  But a storm’s coming.”

          The door opened.

          A stocky Cardassian stepped between Gudrid and Beverly.

“I’ve brought Commander Crusher’s personal belongings from the Federation vessel.”

          “Excellent.”  Gudrid smiled.  “Commander Crusher, this is Glinn Emric Marek, my first officer.  Since I have no medical staff thanks to the Maquis, Marek will use his rudimentary skills to administer our drugs.”  

          Drugs.  That was what Gudrid meant by the next interview.

          “Have the Maquis been recaptured?”  Gudrid asked.

          “No trace of them yet.  The trap is set.”  Marek put a hand on Gudrid’s shoulder.  “Toril, Emric’s been out on patrol since the Maquis escaped,” he said in a paternal tone.

          Gudrid pushed Marek away.  “Emric will keep the night watch on the downed vessel.”

          The _Colorado_ \--evidence was there.  Beverly made contact with Marek’s dark eyes.  “Glinn Marek, in the runabout aft cabin, did you see cut rappelling line by the table?  Lieutenant MacNeill had--”

          “I warned you not to speak unless asked, Crusher.”  Gudrid turned to Marek.  “Go prepare the drugs.”

          Marek quietly brushed past Beverly.

          Gudrid returned to her window gazing.  “As children, my sons Varik and Emric loved to skip stones in the lake so much I often had to order them in at night.”  Her voice hardened.  “Varik, my firstborn, piloted a patrol ship.  Last month, during a routine vessel inspection, Maquis terrorists ambushed Varik.  His commander beamed him off the Maquis vessel, but he was severely wounded.”  Gudrid indicated the monument.  “That is Varik’s grave.”

          “I have a son.”  If Wesley was killed senselessly like Varik, would Beverly become bitter?  “Gul Gudrid, I understand your loss.”

          “You understand nothing.”  Gudrid seized Beverly’s collar.  “You are a Maquis terrorist.”  Knuckles bore down on Beverly’s throat.  Gudrid removed the first rank pip.  “And will be treated as such.”

          When Gudrid detached the last pip, Beverly swallowed hard and imagined Counselor Deanna Troi saying, _Sometimes the only way out is through._

#

          Shivering, Beverly lay on a damp floor.  Her coat was missing.  At least her hands were unshackled.

          For a moment, hearing owl cries, Beverly believed she was back in the forest.  But, the incessant drip of rain didn’t have the soft cadence it had in the understory.  It struck stone hard.

          The algae-encrusted, cracked stone floor smelled of dried blood and stagnation.  An odor of suffering.

          Nausea hit Beverly full force.  What had Gudrid done?

          Beverly had been seated in a stiff-backed chair.  Veiled in shadows behind the desk, Gudrid ordered Marek to inject Beverly with drugs.

          _Now, where the hell am I?_   Beverly leaned against a slimy wall.  She drew her knees up and massaged the back of her calves.  Luckily, the restraining bar hadn’t damaged her peroneal nerves.

          Each side of the hexagonal cell was one to two meters long.  Running lights lined the base and top of rock walls, graduated from five to six meters high.  Rain poured into the open grate slanted across the ceiling.

          A flash of lightning revealed brilliant mottled silver and green feathers.  Undaunted, the owl roosted on the grate.

          A door opened.  Gudrid, a blanket draped over her shoulder, dropped a plate at Beverly’s feet.

          Malodorous food made Beverly’s stomach retch all the more.

          Gudrid smiled.  “Kolbyr has twenty-two hours of darkness in twenty-eight-hour days, constant rain.  It’s seven degrees Celsius tonight.” 

          Thinking of her late grandmother’s vegetable soup, Beverly forced down food.  That the concoction tasted like week-old leftovers reminded her of something Patrick said.

          While Beverly had tended Patrick in the dark, the palm beacon briefly caught the stare of a stout-legged mammal.

          Patrick said, “Hope the Cardies don’t stew the poor little blighter.  Twelve years eating Cardie rot made emergency rations taste like ambrosia when I got out of that hellhole of a prison.”

          _Hellhole is the operative word here._ Beverly swallowed something slithery.  

          “Eat, Crusher.  I don’t want you to become ill.”  Gudrid crossed her arms.  “I was promoted to gul through service here when it was a labor camp.  Many Bajorans died mining dilithium under these conditions.”

          Beverly couldn’t stomach any more.  “Skip the damned weather report and history lesson.”

          “Watch your temper.”  Gudrid looked up at the grate.  “Thanks to our drugs, I’ve learned much about you, Commander Beverly Howard Crusher.”

          “Then you know I’m innocent.”  Beverly put the plate down.

          “You stand charged with smuggling medical supplies to the Maquis and aiding MacNeill in a failed assault on our base.”  Gudrid kneaded the blanket in her hands.  “I’ve passed along your knowledge of MacNeill’s plans to Captain Picard.  He has three days to give me the Federation’s response.”

          Beverly willed the shivering away.  _If anyone can get me home, it’s Jean-Luc._

          “Poor Captain Picard.  To lose your husband Lieutenant Commander Jack Crusher in 2354 under his command.  Now to face your loss.”

          “He hasn’t lost me yet.”  Anger surged through Beverly.  “And my personal life is none of your damned business.”

          Gudrid pitched the blanket on the floor.  “I held the Maquis cell leader here.  After four days of isolation, he needed to go to the infirmary.  Do you know where he was from, Crusher?”

          Beverly tucked her hands underneath armpits, partly to get warm but mostly so Gudrid couldn’t see her shaking.  “Dorvan V.”

          “Does he know Wesley Crusher?”  Gudrid shoved a picture  toward Beverly.  “Maybe your son joined the Maquis also.”

          The holographic photo of Wesley in his cadet uniform sent chills to Beverly’s heart.  “Leave Wesley out of this.”

          “Why?”  Gudrid threw the photo.  “Varik was killed because of the Federation’s inability to handle its own terrorists.  His death was especially hard on Emric.  Cardassians value family.”

          _Is that why you slapped your son?_ Beverly kept the comment to herself.  Beyond Gudrid’s thick Cardassian armor, there had to be a mother’s heart.  “As do humans.  Would you risk starting a war over this?  Send your only surviving son to the battle line?  My God, how many lives were lost in the last war?  How many innocents suffered because of Cardassian aggression?”

          “Your noble Federation has blood on its hands too.”  Gudrid’s eyes darkened.  “I lost my husband in the war; Glinn Marek’s wife and children were killed.”  Gudrid took the plate.  “Rest while you can, Crusher.”  She stormed out.

          Beverly spread the blanket so half of it insulated her from wet stone.  A steaming cup of lemon tea would be heavenly to chase away the chill.

          As Beverly picked up Wesley’s photo, thunder rattled the grate.  More lightning flashed.  With a flutter of wings, the bird fled.

          Beverly settled on the blanket and kept Wesley’s image close to her heart.  _Dear God, I hope Wes is light years away from Dorvan V._ Fighting tears, Beverly had hugged him goodbye in the _Enterprise_ transporter room a few months ago.  Alone now, she surrendered to the tears and closed her eyes, hoping sleep came soon.

#

          Rough hands jostled Beverly and two Cardassians pulled her up.  Had she even got two hours sleep?

          “Time for a morning excursion, Crusher.  Put this on her.”  Gudrid tossed Beverly’s coat to a guard.  “It will help her stand out.”

          “For what?”  Beverly didn’t fight.  She welcomed the warm dryness of her coat.  The storm had ceased, but darkness obscured the world beyond the grate.

          “The Maquis recovered MacNeill’s body and equipment we left as bait.”  Gudrid rapped manacles against her hand.  “If they’re that concerned with a dead Maquis, how much will they risk for a live one?”

          Beverly wished queasiness was residual discomfort from her Cardassian meal.

#

          Dark clouds darkened the sky.

          Beverly shifted uncomfortably on her knees.  Hours ago, dawn broke on the azure river that cut through the cliff.  Several times since then, Beverly had attempted to talk to Emric.  But he stood silent guard over her.  _Obviously in fear of his mother_ , thought Beverly, catching sight of Gudrid, Marek and their troop coming up from the _Colorado_.

          Bashed cockpit-first into a cliff wall, the _Colorado_ was dented, sheared in places, from fore to aft by falling rock.

          “Good, you’re refraining from fraternizing with the enemy this time.”  Gudrid scowled at Emric.  “Don’t think it makes up for letting the Maquis slip through our defenses.”

          “I took shelter from the storm.”  Emric looked down at his rifle.  “I didn’t expect the Maquis to--”

          “Varik would have held his ground.”  Gudrid shot a glance at Beverly.  “Never underestimate your enemy, Emric.”

          “I’m not the enemy, Gul Gudrid,” Beverly said.

          Gudrid raised her hand, as if to strike.

          Fortunately for Beverly, Marek interrupted.  “Toril, the storm’s coming back.”  Marek clasped Emric’s arm.  “It’s all right, Emric.  The Maquis dropped some things and left us a trail.”  Marek tapped the Starfleet medkit slung over his shoulder.

          “But obviously they’re not bold enough to rescue Crusher in the open.”  Gudrid faced Marek.  “Take Emric and Lacet with you.  Get Crusher back to the shuttle.  We’ll spread out and shadow you.”

          Glinn Marek got Beverly on her feet.

          Rifles at the ready, Emric and the Cardassian named Lacet started up the winding forest path.  Beverly trudged behind them.  Marek brought up the rear.

          Animals roared in the distance.

          The two hundred meters of moss-encrusted, tangled limbs had seemed farther to Beverly in her struggle to drag Patrick from the _Colorado_ before another rockslide hit it.

          They approached the falls.  Beverly froze at the sight of empty ground where Patrick’s body had rested.

          Sudden rustles by the river stopped the Cardassians.

          Lacet and Emric trained weapons on a thick clump of trees.

          Phaser pointed, Marek secured Beverly with his free hand.

          Two leopard-like cubs emerged chasing one of the stout-legged mammals.  The intended prey scurried away unscathed.

          “ _Lorakuls_ ,” Marek relaxed his grip on Beverly.

          Lacet steadied his weapon.  “Target practice.”

          “Leave them be.”  Emric knocked Lacet’s rifle away.  It discharged, charring the ground.

          Another _lorakul_ , two meters long, charged out.  It roared.  Baring sharp teeth, the adult waited until the cubs safely ran into the underbrush, then it disappeared.

          “They’re worthless.”  Lacet picked up his rifle.

          Marek said, “Keep it down.  If the Maquis are close, you both alerted them to our position.”

          “Isn’t that the point?”  Lacet glared at Beverly.  “To see if they come to her rescue?”

          “I’m not helping the Maquis,” Beverly said.

          Raindrops began softly dropping from the canopy.

          “We need to go.”  Marek prodded Beverly.

          Beverly willed stiff legs to keep walking as the ground dropped drastically by the falls.  The steep path narrowed through tightly packed trees along the river edge.  Emric took the lead.

          Lacet hacked his way through the trees with his rifle.  A branch flung back, nicking Beverly’s face before she sidestepped.  Loose ground underneath her gave way.

          Beverly tumbled down the bank.  Restrained hands couldn’t grab hold of anything.  Jagged rocks shredded her left sleeve, slashing into her forearm.  Somehow, almost to the river, Beverly dug her heel into a rut.  As she stopped, agony seared her brain.

          Beverly gritted her teeth when Emric and Lacet picked her up.

          Marek pointed with his phaser.  “Take her to those rocks, then assume lookout positions.”

          Beverly was deposited on a large boulder twenty meters downriver.

          Marek removed the manacles.  “You may have this to tend your injury.”  He pulled a tricorder from the medkit.

          Beverly accepted it.  “Thank you.”  The twelve-centimeter cut wasn’t as deep as she feared.  In lieu of an autosuture, she rooted out medicinal flora.  Caked with gray-green moss, small spindly bushes were dead.  The same moss amply blanketed rocks.

          Analysis showed moss had promising poultice potential; Beverly gathered plenty, stuffing a couple handfuls into her pocket for later.

          Marek knifed a strip of Beverly’s coat.  “Here.”  He pitched it across her arm.

          “Thanks.”  The moss in place, Beverly fumbled with the cloth.

          Whether out of expediency or pity, Marek took over dressing Beverly’s wound.  The knot he tied over the laceration applied effective pressure.  “You have five minutes rest.”

          Marek shook his head.  “Emric, what are you doing?”

          Seemingly out of hearing range, Emric climbed a flat rock overhanging the river.

          Marek took a flask from his pack and offered it to Beverly.  “ _Kanar_ for the pain?”

          Thick, syrupy alcohol burned Beverly’s throat.  Beverly recalled Gudrid’s mention of Marek’s lost family.  “Are you and Emric close?”  She returned his flask.

          “He’s--”

          Gudrid’s voice crackled over his wrist communicator, “Glinn Marek?”

          “Marek here.”  He headed toward Lacet, rifle at the ready, several meters away from Beverly.

          Harder rain came.  Beverly gathered her coat closer.

          Marek started back.  He talked into his communicator.  “No, I didn’t give Crusher--”

          Weapons fired from across the river.

          Marek and Lacet dove for rocks near Beverly.

          “Toril, we’re under attack,” Marek said, shooting toward a black-haired woman.

          Beverly wondered if she was Cate MacNeill.

          The woman got off several shots, then ducked back into the forest.  More Maquis continued firing.

          When a yell came from Emric’s direction, Beverly turned.

          Possibly hit, Emric fell into the river.

          Marek and Lacet seemed oblivious to the loud splash.

          With grim determination, Beverly grabbed the medkit.  Dodging Maquis fire, she scrambled to Emric.

          Emric had landed on his back.  Flourishing among moss-free rocks, spindle bushes pricked Emric’s head.  Emric’s lower body was submerged in bloody water.

          Beverly dragged Emric from the river.

          Blood spurted from his right thigh onto Beverly.  A severed femoral artery--he’d be dead in a matter of minutes.

          Beverly applied digital pressure and opened the medkit with her left hand.

          Fear ran wild in Emric’s eyes.

          “Don’t be afraid.”  Beverly worked to repair the damaged artery.  “I know Cardassian physiology.”

          Emric nodded.  “MacNeill--”

          “You’re not going to die.”  _If I can help it._ Beverly spoke softly, “Be quiet and still.  I’ll patch you up one injury at a time.”

          “You’re helping me.”  Emric leaned back and groaned.

          Beverly finished with Emric’s artery.  A med scan showed Emric had a mild phaser burn across his back.  Thorns had become embedded in the back of his head; blood slowly seeped out.

          Tuning out the fading sound of firing phasers and footsteps, Beverly focused on Emric.  She started analyzing the thorns.

          A hand seized the back of Beverly’s coat.  She was pulled backwards.

          “What have you done to my son?”  Gudrid tightened her grip.

          “Mother, Crusher tried to--”  Emric closed his eyes.

          Gudrid shoved Beverly aside and knelt beside Emric.

          “He may have a concussion.”  Beverly recovered her balance.

          “Silence her, Lacet.”  Gudrid brushed Emric’s cheek.  “Emric?”

          Lacet rammed his rifle into Beverly’s upper abdomen.

          Excruciating gasps for air failed when Beverly hit the ground.

          Gudrid boomed orders.  “Lacet, take half of my force; pursue the Maquis.  Marek, look after Emric.”

          Marek said, “My knowledge is limited.  He might die.”

          “Carelessness with Crusher may have already ensured that.”  Gudrid asked, “Did it occur to you that she could have fallen on purpose?  A delay tactic so the Maquis caught up.”

          Beverly fought to breathe.  Finally, normal respiration returned.  She stood slowly but was subdued by guards.  “Gul Gudrid, I can help him.”

          “If Emric dies, the blame falls upon the Federation for not containing the Maquis.”  Gudrid struck Beverly in the mouth.  “You’ve done enough.  Time in isolation might teach you a lesson.”

          Beverly tasted blood.  Both she and Emric were at Gul Gudrid’s mercy.  And Beverly feared for her newest patient.

#

          An oubliette, a place to be forgotten, that was what Beverly was reminded of, after a long night, now day, spent in the cell.  Thunder sounded the end to respite from rain.

          Beverly gingerly touched her swollen lip.  _Cardassian gratitude.  Try to help and get punched in the face_ , she thought bitterly.  She splashed rainwater collected in pitted stone on her face, then took a long drink.

          Drawing her knees up, Beverly unwrapped the bandage from her arm and removed the moss.  No sign of infection.  She looked up when the door opened.

          Marek brandished a tray.  “I’ve brought you _sem’hal stew_ and _kanar_.”

          Beverly tore a strip from her coat.  “How’s Emric?”  With fresh moss from her pocket, she fashioned a clean dressing.

          “Not well.”  Marek shook his head.  “You have knowledge of plants?”  He set the food next to Beverly.

          “Yes.”  Either the stew was fresher than Gudrid’s offering the other night or Beverly was simply starving.  “You seem fond of Emric.”

          “Gul Varik Gudrid and I were best friends.  Emric is my namesake and like a son to me.  I lost my family in the war.”  Marek picked up Wesley’s photo.  “When Gudrid questioned you about your husband, I realized you knew loss also.”  He held out a tricorder.  “Emric is having trouble seeing and complains he’s cold.”

          Beverly studied the readout.  Thorns in Emric’s head contained aconitine.  Toxin in one thorn would kill a human in twenty-four hours.  Cardassians had more resistant immune systems.  There might be time.  “How long since the Maquis ambush?” 

          “Almost a day.”  Marek’s eyes were pleading.  “I cannot promise that helping Emric will change your situation, but as a parent, would you--”

          Gudrid marched in.  She snatched the tricorder from Beverly, then stared at Marek.  “I said you could give the prisoner food.”

          “Toril, Crusher will help Emric.  The thorns I extracted are poisonous.”

          Gudrid fumed.  “A condemned Maquis isn’t touching my son.”

          Beverly couldn’t hold back.  “So you’ll let him die?”

          “Emric’s a dreamer.  He wastes time wandering the woods, lacks Varik’s military prowess.”  Gudrid stiffened.  “Emric’s death might provoke our government to take stronger action against the Maquis and their Federation allies.”

          Beverly rose.  “Do you know what this toxin will do to him?  Right now, his vision’s blurred, body temperature low.   Before long, he’ll feel like there’s ice running through his blood.  Then come the chest pains and convulsions.  His heart will undergo rhythmic disturbances.  Finally, paralysis of the heart muscles will kill him.”

          “Untreated, Emric will be dead in three, maybe four days.”  Beverly braced herself for retaliation.  “Why?  So you can drag the Federation into your war with the Maquis?  Is this how Cardassian mothers value sons, Gul Gudrid?  So you can have two of them to mourn and can erect another monu--”

          Gudrid’s fist crashed into Beverly’s right cheek, knocking her off balance.

          Somehow, Beverly kept her footing.

          Gudrid turned to Marek.  “Leave us.”

          “Toril, listen to--”

          “Go.”  Gudrid waited until Marek left.  “Perhaps fifty-six hours in isolation will teach you to keep arrogant remarks to yourself.  Marek won’t be bringing food and _kanar_.  You’ve corrupted him enough.”

          Gudrid took the tray and left.

          When the lights were cut, Beverly realized how much the sun had faded.  As heavy rain started, Beverly pulled the blanket around her and closed her eyes.

          Balfour Lake emerged.  She was with Jack and Wesley on one of their camping trips.  Jack hadn’t left for the _Stargazer_ and everything was right with the world.

#

          Darkness, daylight, and more darkness.  Unsure of how much of her isolation was up, Beverly practiced Klingon _Mok’bara_ exercises.  It helped her keep warm and forget that dampness, lack of food and rest contributed to the likelihood of contracting hypothermia.  It took her mind off whatever Gudrid had in store when the fifty-six hours were over.  But it didn’t change Emric’s condition.  She prayed Marek had found a way to help him.

          Rain relentlessly poured into the cell.

          Lights came on, blinding Beverly as the door opened.

          Marek said, “Doctor, Emric is suffering convulsions.”

          Beverly ran a hand through sopping hair.  “Will Gul Gudrid let me treat him?”

          “She may be gone for hours pursuing the Maquis.”  Marek gave Beverly a medkit.  “Will you examine him?”

          “Certainly.”  Beverly snatched up her coat.

          Beverly followed Marek through winding corridors.  The _Mok’bara_ moves had restored some limberness.  Hopefully, she was alert enough.

          Marek led Beverly into balmy quarters.

          Lightning darted across the skylight above the bed where Emric convulsed.

          Before Marek pulled a chair over, Beverly dispensed morphenolog.

          Emric murmured softly when the convulsion ceased.

          “There’s one thorn deep in his head I couldn’t get.”  Marek leaned over Beverly’s shoulder.  “It’s been two-and-a-half days since the attack.”

          “You did well with the phaser burn.”  Beverly scanned Emric.  Aconitine polluted his system.  “Hold Emric down in case he has another convulsion before I finish.”

          Beverly steadied the exoscalpel.  She carefully removed the thorn.

          “Glinn Marek?”  Gul Gudrid’s broken communicator voice said.

          Marek paced.  “Yes, Toril?”

          “The storm forced us to take shelter.  It may be dawn before we return.”  Gudrid asked, “Is Emric alive?”

          “He’s holding on.”  Marek’s conspiratorial smile ensured Beverly of an ally.

#

          A light touch woke Beverly.  She raised her head off the desk.  Her hand bumped a ceramic bowl full of rocks.  Relics of Emric’s stone skipping excursions?

          Her open tricorder reminded her that without time and resources to manufacture an antidote, Emric would die.  She didn’t have the heart to tell Marek.

          Marek put a steaming cup on the desk.  “An attempt at lemon tea.”

          “Thank you.”  It had a metallic taste, but was warm.  “How long was I asleep?”

          “Two hours.”

          Beverly glanced at the sleeping Emric.  “Any convulsions or chest pains?”

          “The medicine you’ve given him has helped.”

          _But it’s not a cure._ Beverly took the tea over to the window.  Lights shone eerily on Varik’s lakeside grave.  “How long before Gudrid returns?”

          “Sunrise is in three hours.  I’ll take you back to the cell to cover my actions.”

          “Then what?” 

          Marek came over to Beverly.  “I’ll convince Toril that you’re not Maquis.”

          “Good luck.”  Beverly leaned against the rain-battered window.  _Think like a scientist, damn it._

          Spindly bushes were dead by rocks where Beverly tended her arm, but thrived downstream.  What was missing?  “No moss.”

          “Doctor?”  Marek asked.

          “If I’m right, I might have something.”  _If it’s not to late._ Setting the tea on a table beside Emric’s bed, she drew a handful of moss from her pocket.

          Beverly analyzed the moss and thorn toxin.  “Moss nutrients counter the aconitine.  There isn’t time to formulate an antidote.  I could prepare a medicinal tea.  I’ll need a cup of boiling water.”

          Beverly emptied her pocket of moss.  Enough for several cups.  She resumed her vigil at Emric’s bedside by tucking the blanket around him.

          Emric stirred.  “Mother?”

          “It’s Doctor Crusher.”  Beverly gave him inaprovaline.  “How’s your vision?”

          “Like being lost in fog.”  Emric leaned back against the pillow.  “It’s so cold.”

          “I have something to help.”  Beverly took the hot water from Marek.  “The next few hours are critical to see if he responds.  I’ll walk you through the process.”  Beverly put moss in the water.  “Let it steep several minutes.”

          Emric shivered.  “This ’quality of mercy’ Lieutenant MacNeill talked about.  Doctor, do you know the speech?”

          “My Shakespeare’s a little rusty.  Without the text, I can recite bits of it.”  _Patrick wanted me to play Portia.  Here goes._ “‘But mercy is above this scept’red sway; it is enthroned in the hearts of kings.’”

          The tea acquired a musky scent like the forest carpet. Beverly held the cup.  “It’s not going to taste great, but it will help.”

          Emric drank half a cup. 

          The door opened.

          “You betrayed me, Marek” Gudrid said.  “My son won’t be disgraced by letting a non-Cardassian, especially a Maquis, see his corpse.”

          Beverly faced Gudrid.  “Emric’s not dead yet.  This tea might   save--”

          “Or cause him further agony.”  Gudrid knocked the cup down.

          It shattered with Beverly’s hope.

          “Crusher tried to help me.”  Emric got up.  “You’re filled with hate, Mother.”  He faltered.

          Gudrid caught Emric.

          Beverly struggled against Lacet.  “Gul Gudrid, if my son was dying, I would move heaven and earth to try to save him.”  Beverly looked helplessly to Marek.  “Glinn Marek acted out of love for Emric.”

          “Take her to my office.”  Gudrid nodded to Lacet.  “I’ll deal with Marek.”

          All Beverly could do was hope Gudrid let Marek continue Emric’s treatment.

#  

          Rain pounded the window of Gudrid’s office.  Flood lights illuminated the lake.

          Beverly couldn’t feel her legs below the bar.  Suspended above her head, arms ached.

          “Twelve hours in restraints, Crusher.  What keeps you from breaking?”  At her desk, Gudrid was eating dinner.  “Tell me how the Maquis flew a ship in under our sensors and rescued their friends.”

          “I’ve told you five times already, I don’t know.”  Beverly tried to shake strands of hair out of her eyes.

          Gudrid walked to the window.  “When he learned his father wasn’t coming home, Varik spent the night out in such a storm.  He was nine.”

          Reaching Gudrid as a mother was her only chance now.  “If you care about family, why are you letting Emric suffer?”

          Gudrid evaded the question.  “The Maquis thought Kolbyr was a biological weapons depot.  I believe they enlisted you.  After all, the Federation sent you illegally into our space to hunt for metagenic weapons.”

          Beverly fixed her gaze on the lake.  Shortly after Jack’s death, Beverly had taken Wesley to Balfour Lake. 

          “It’s time to talk to Picard.”  Gudrid leaned over.  A click released the leg bar.  Then, Beverly’s manacled hands came loose from the overhead rod.

          Swallowing pride, Beverly collapsed against the window.

          “Come to the chair, Crusher.”  Gudrid walked away.

          Beverly crawled to Gudrid’s desk.  She made it into the chair.

          Gudrid began the transmission.  “Captain Picard, what am I to do with Commander Crusher?”

          Jean-Luc sounded tired--and angry.  “Admiral Nechayev wants to show Cardassia that her priority is stop the Maquis.  She won’t bargain for Doctor Crusher’s release.”

          Gudrid smiled.  “Crusher’s here.  I’ll let you talk.”  She turned the viewer.

          Beverly looked at scuffed boots.  Her filthy uniform and coat were covered with muck and blood.  If she saw Jean-Luc--spoke to him--she’d break down worse than when he told her Jack had died.  Gudrid would enjoy that.

          “Beverly, I’m not giving up.”  Strength and gentleness in Jean-Luc’s voice restored hope.

          Beverly steadied shaking hands and looked at him.  “Jean-Luc, the Mandisa colonists?”  
          “A reshipment of supplies reached them this morning.”  Lines darkened Jean-Luc’s eyes.  “You’re not to lose hope.  That’s an order, Doctor.”

          “Yes, sir.”  Beverly almost chided him about getting six hours of sleep.  Bedraggled hair and a hellacious bruise on her right cheek likely contributed to alarm in Jean-Luc’s eyes.

          Gudrid rose from the chair.

          “Jean-Luc, I--” _do love you._   Beverly refused Gudrid another intrusion.

          “I know, Beverly.”  Jean-Luc managed a smile.  “We’ll get you home.  I promise.”

           “Satisfied, Captain?”  Gudrid pressed down on Beverly’s shoulder.

          “You’ll treat Doctor Crusher fairly?”

          “Once I ferret out her knowledge of Maquis operations, I’ll spare the Federation the embarrassment of a public trial.  I’m authorized to execute terrorists in my custody.  Goodbye, Picard.”  Gudrid slapped Beverly’s shoulder.  “He’s lost you now.”

          Beverly considered ramming her hands into Gudrid’s face.  But mustered courage to speak instead.  “Gul Gudrid, the tea I made could save Emric.  Let me help him.”

          Gudrid had an incredulous look on her face.  “You can’t walk.  How are you going to heal my son?”  She called in guards.

          “Bring her.”  Gudrid started for the door.

          Beverly lacked energy to struggle.  Leg muscles and nerves screamed in protest as Beverly was dragged by guards until they reached the cell.

          In a muddy uniform, Marek blocked the door.  Had Gudrid relegated him to patrol duty?  “Toril, we need to talk.”

          “After I deal with Crusher.”  Gudrid keyed an entry code.

          Guards threw Beverly to the floor.

          “This is about Crusher and Emric,” Marek said.  “Emric is calling for you.”

          “Leave us.”  Gudrid picked up Wesley’s photo.

          Alone with Gudrid, Beverly steeled herself.  She tried but couldn’t get up.

          “Crusher, I’ve decided your sentence.”  Gudrid put her boot on Beverly’s back.

          Beverly cringed.  “All that I’m guilty of is trying to help your son.”

          “Death by illness or starvation--whichever comes first.”  Gudrid pressed down on Beverly’s spine.  “I’ll give you three days.”

          The door closed.  Then, lights were gone.

          Something--hail struck the grate.  After three attempts to get her feet to move, Beverly conceded and endured the dampness until she passed out.

#

          Before sunset--the third Beverly counted since Gudrid left, she stopped shivering.  The adynamic stage of hypothermia had come.  Drenched from constant downpour, the blanket was no help.  It wouldn’t be long before Beverly  died.  She’d never know if Emric lived.

          Someone overshadowed Beverly.  “Don’t give up, Mom.”

          Beverly’s heart pounded.  “Wesley?”

          Wesley had to be a hallucination.  He couldn’t be here; he was on other planes of existence with the Traveler.  Beverly talked to him anyway.  “I don’t have the strength, Wes.”

          “I’m here, Mom.”  Wesley cradled Beverly.  His warm embrace felt real.

          Beverly rested for hours in Wesley’s arms.

          “It’s all right,” the voice wasn’t Wesley.

          Groping, Beverly felt a dry scaly hand instead of her son’s.  She recoiled from the touch.

          “Tell me what to do for you, Doctor,” Marek said.

          “I have hypothermia.”  Beverly found it hard to talk.  “I need re-warmed.”  She slipped into unconsciousness.

#

          Warmth from blankets made Beverly think she was in her own bed on the _Enterprise_.  Droplets of rain moistened her face.  She was in Gudrid’s cell on a pallet of blankets.  Beverly slowly sat up and smoothed a clean uniform.

          Hands steadied Beverly.  “Easy, Doctor,” Marek said.  “It’s been a long night.  I‘ve done what I can.”

          Beverly found the tricorder.  She’d need microsurgery to repair damaged nerves.  But vitals had improved.  Body temperature was close to thirty-seven degrees Celsius.  “You’ve done well, Marek.  What about Emric?”

          “He’s fine.  Your cure worked.”  Marek helped Beverly stand.  “Everything will be made clear soon.”

          Marek supported Beverly into Gudrid‘s office and into the chair opposite Gudrid’s desk.

          Back to them, Gudrid stood at the window.  “Leave us, Marek.”

          The memory of Gudrid’s boot on her spine numbed Beverly.

          “Thank Glinn Marek for the temporary stay of execution.  Gudrid finally turned.

          Beverly stared at the restraining device.  Had Marek saved her so Gudrid could interrogate her again?  No, Marek wouldn’t comply with Gudrid’s cruelty.  Not after the way he’d tried to intervene at the cell.

          Gudrid smiled.  “I must ask once more.  Why was the chief medical officer of the Federation flagship giving medical aid to a Maquis she claimed hijacked her vessel?”

          Beverly battled for clarity of mind.  “For the same reason I was helping Emric.  My physician’s oath takes precedence over everything else.”

          “Even treaty violations?”

          “Yes,” Beverly wondered what trap Gudrid was luring her into.

          Gudrid turned the viewer toward Beverly.  “For several hours I’ve studied this.”  She activated the image.

          Lines creased Jean-Luc’s eyes.  “Gul Gudrid, I’ve received this transmission from your former prisoner, Cate MacNeill.”

          Jean-Luc’s visage gave way to the woman Beverly recognized from the river shootout.  Cate had Patrick’s bright blue eyes.  “Captain Picard, I doubt Gul Gudrid will take the word of a Maquis, but I hope you will.”

          Cate continued.  “My mates and I evaded the Cardies for a night.  Dad told me he took Doctor Crusher hostage and commandeered the _Colorado_.  After the _Colorado_ was shot down, I could tell Dad was banged up; Doctor Crusher drug him on a blanket into the forest.  The Cardies were there.  I had to leave.”

          Beverly’s heart broke for Cate.  Patrick never got his reunion with her.

          A tear graced Cate’s cheek.  “We recovered Dad’s body.  The next day, we came across three Cardies and Doctor Crusher and opened fire.  Crusher helped a Cardie I recognized as Gul Gudrid’s son when he was hit.  So if this helps Crusher, Captain, please consider it something I can do to restore my father’s honor.  MacNeill out.”

          Jean-Luc came onto the screen.  “Gul Gudrid, if Doctor Crusher saved your son, for the sake of Cardassian-Federation relations, drop the charges against her.”

          Beverly allowed herself a small measure of hope.  “Cate MacNeill’s witness verifies my story.”

          Gudrid leaned forward.  “I was inclined to distrust the message.  However, evidence surfaced I cannot overlook.”  She picked up severed rope.  “When Marek went to obtain moss for Emric’s treatment, he returned to your vessel and found this.  Cut with precision, a trace of blood--identified as yours--on them.”

          Did Beverly dare let the hope grow?  “So you believe I told the truth?”

          The door opened.

          “Yes.  There’s still your aid to an admitted Maquis.”

          “And your son,” said Emric.

          Beverly turned and smiled.  Emric, helped by Marek, walked unsteadily.

          Gudrid came out from the desk.  “As a show of Cardassian good will, Marek and Emric will return you to the _Enterprise_.  Your personal belongings will be returned.  I believe this is yours, Crusher.”  She held out a photograph. 

          “Thank you.”  Beverly took Wesley’s picture.  It was real.  Gentle rain tapped the window, ensuring her this wasn’t imagination.

          Gudrid went to Emric.  Taking his hands, she said, “Stay with Crusher while I step out with Marek.”

          “Yes, Mother.”  Emric gestured to the window.  “Would you care to check out the view.”

          Beverly nodded.  “It’s good to see you up and about.”

          “Thank you, Doctor Crusher, for the quality of your mercy.”  Emric escorted Beverly to the window.  “I very much like this Shakespeare.  Can you recite anymore of the verse?”

          “Let’s see.”  Beverly tightened her hold on Emric.  Quoting Shakespeare reminded her of Patrick.  “‘It is an attribute to God himself, and earthly power doth then show likest God’s when mercy seasons justice.’”

          Outside, Gudrid and Marek strolled to Varik’s grave.     Thankful, Beverly saw a mother, instead of an interrogator, standing on the edge of the trees below.

 


End file.
